At Night She Came To Me, He Who I Never Knew
by Bohemian-Vixen
Summary: Some things are always left undone. Some questions are better left unanswered. Read about Draco and Hermione in a story that is as real as it can get.
1. At Night She Came To Me

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and everything that comes along with it, so I don't make money out of this. JK Rowling is the rightful owner, and she's the one raking in all the moolah.**

**A/N: This is a complete fic, despite of its shortness. It's not fluffy, nor mushy, but it isn't morbid nor gothic…it's just real. This is inspired by my devotion to the D/Hr pair and by a fleeting scene (blink-and-you-might-miss-it-unless-you-are-a-real-D/Hr-fan type of scene) from book 4. It's mentioned at the A/N below after the fic. This fic is especially dedicated to all devoted Draco/Hermione fans. To the readers: You'll get the whole and real meaning of this only at the end (or near-end). This is worth a read, IMHO. Please read and review. Thanks. After reading the fic, please read my A/N below. Thanks again!  **

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**_At Night She Came To Me _**

At night, she came to me.

In her arms, I found heaven.

I grazed a finger down her soft cheeks, her lips, and the contours of her face, feeling the silky smoothness of her skin on my fingertip.

I stared into her deep brown eyes, those eyes that drowned me and made me forget everything else, even what I was, and what she was. I was just a man, and she was just a woman. In that state of heart and mind, what mattered to me was that we were together.

In her presence, I found warmth—something I had not known much about, something I hardly experienced before. Now, not only did she give me warmth, but she also gave me fire. She kindled my spirit and my heart, both of which I had never thought existed any longer. Before, I thought the cold was comforting, because it had been the only comfort I had known…until she came along.

I twirled my finger around a chestnut lock of her hair, and she smiled. Her smile was beautiful and sincere. I remembered that it was her smile that started it all. 

It was her smile that stirred something inside me, years ago.

The first time I saw that smile, she was in flowing periwinkle robes. And she was also on the arm of another man, but I chose to forget about that now. All I remembered was the moment she walked in the Great Hall, her hair up with a few loose tendrils framing her face. I once knew that there was something different about her, and not just her fixed teeth or straightened hair. It was the way she carried herself, it was the way she radiated pure joy in her smiles.

I could not bring myself to insult her then, as I usually did. I was too surprised at the new light in which I was seeing her. I had been captivated then…and still was.

At first I told myself that she just grew up, as I did. I berated myself, reasoned with myself with all my might. She was not for me. I was meant for someone better. Her blood did not mix with my blood. But there was a point in my life when I stopped denying and stopped fighting against it. 

Maybe it was because I had been depriving myself for so long of simple joys which I deserved. All my life I tried to live up to expectations, and most of the time whatever I did was not deemed enough. My life had been planned for me before I was even born. I did not know any other kind of life, so I embraced what was taught to me by my father. As a consequence, I missed out on a lot of things that I did not know I even missed.

So I gave in.

I might be my father's son, but I was also a man. 

And when I surrendered to her, I discovered my greatest pleasure…and for the first time, my greatest happiness. 

In all these years since I first saw her in a new light, I found out a lot of other wonderful things about her. Aside from her beauty, I marveled at her intelligence, her bravery, her tenderness…everything about her. I loved her with as much love a man like me could possibly give—that much was true.

And so every night she would come to me, only at night, in secret. 

It would not have been this way if both of us lived in another time, in another place. If we had been any other people, it would have been perfect. But there was no perfection in this sick, sad world. 

She changed who I was, but that was not enough. Sadly, no amount of magic in the world could change what we were, and where we came from.

And so we stayed this way. Every night she would come to me.

She would give me her sweet smile. She would look into my gray eyes. She would caress my blond hair. She would hold my hand.

And then every morning I would wake up.

In the morning, I would see her smile sweetly…but not at me. She would look into a pair of brown eyes. She would caress not my blond hair, but someone's red hair. And she would also take his hand. Before my very eyes. 

For years, it had been that way. At night she would come to me, and in the morning I would wake up to reality. It was a reality where she was with another man—and not just any man, but a man I truly hated—and I spent my time watching her. I derived joy and pain at the same time from doing so. 

That was the vicious cycle, every single day and night.

I would never, ever let her know. 

And she never had an idea, for ever since I realized I loved her, I hid under a mask of hostility greater than ever towards her, hoping against hope that I would not give myself away. I inflicted insults at her more painful than before, because I wanted her to feel the pain she unknowingly caused me—the pain of not being able to be with her, the pain that came with the realization that my heart strayed from the direction I had been born to take. 

I was never really a brave man. I was scared of what I felt for her. I could not imagine how I could face all the consequences when she would find out. Not only could I not bear my father's wrath, but I also could not bear her suffering in my father's hands. 

But then again, maybe I was really brave, because I could bear to live with my pain so long as I would not cost her a far more terrible and unimaginable pain than what I already had given her in all the years that I had known her.

Today was the last day we see each other as students. We were both off to the real world. I had no idea when we would see each other again. 

For all I knew, we would see each other next time in a battlefield, where we would have no choice but kill each other, since we support different sides. 

When we meet again, she could kill me, but she would not find her death in my hands. That was the most I could do for her. I could kill anyone from her side…but not her. I would spare her and protect her with all my power from anyone from the Dark Side. Even without her knowing it.

There were a lot of questions in my mind…why couldn't it be, where do I go from here, why her, why me, how do I deal, and so on. But there were some things in life that were never meant to be answered. And there were some things that were better left unsaid… like _'I love you, Hermione.'_

And I did not know why. All I knew was that at least at night, in my sleep, she was mine. 

I alone knew that every night, she would come to me, in my dreams. 

Only in my dreams.

**_ The End _**

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**A/N: This fic is mainly inspired by the following lines from Book 4,_ Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, chapter 23, The Yule Ball:_**

**'Parvati was gazing at Hermione in unflattering disbelief. She wasn't the only one either; when the doors to the Great Hall opened, Krum's fan club from the library stalked past, throwing Hermione looks of deepest loathing. Pansy Parkinson gaped at her as she walked by with Malfoy, and even he didn't seem to be able to find an insult to throw at her.'**


	2. He Who I Never Knew

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and everything that comes along with it, so I don't make money out of this. JK Rowling is the rightful owner, and she's the one raking in all the moolah.**

**A/N: Chapter one, _At Night She Came To Me, is already complete on its own. This new chapter is more of a sequel only. I've decided to put in Hermione's thoughts in this fic. A few people asked me for it in other sites wherein this fic is also posted. So here goes. _**

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**_He Who I Never Knew _**

This was it. My doom. 

The enemy in front of me—a middle-aged burly man—had taken hold of my wand, and now I was defenseless. 

I closed my eyes in defeat, and I unexpectedly felt relief wash over me. I thought I would be scared, but I was not. 

It was because in the end, it would not be too terrible to die. In death I would at least find peace and an end to all my misery. I would not have to fight a battle full of uncertainties. In death I could join my dead colleagues and friends…and especially my husband, who had been dead for so many years. The only regret I had was leaving my children as orphans, and at terrifying and unsafe times like this, no less. In my mind I saw them—little red-haired children who deserved to live in a time of safety and happiness, and not a time of chaos and war. They were so young. They lost a father and they could not afford to lose a mother. But right now there was nothing I could do but wait and hope that whatever would happen would be for the best.

I was waiting for death to come to me, but I heard a voice say, _"Expelliarmus!" _

And quickly followed by _"Petrificus Totalus!"___

My eyes flew open. But I did not see him or anyone else. All I saw was the burly man now sprawled on the floor, unarmed and paralyzed.

I had heard that voice many times before. I always heard that voice whenever I thought I would die. But somehow, that voice became my salvation. It was almost a voice of an angel.

Almost. 

I would have thought that it was an angel's, if I did not know whose voice that was.

But I did know whose voice that was. Yet every time, I never saw his face. The last time I saw him was graduation, and from then on, all I knew of him was what he became of. I had never seen him again.

But I always heard his voice.

It did not make any sense. There was no reason for him to save me. If anything, I knew that he would be more than willing to be the one to kill me.

Maybe, I was just imagining things. I would not be surprised if all of my grief over tragic losses had taken its toll on my sanity. 

Yes, I was imagining things. That could be the only logical explanation.

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"The court finds you guilty of mass murder of Muggles and magical people and being an active Death Eater—among other crimes—beyond reasonable doubt. You would be subjected to the dementor's kiss without further delay," the judge said with an air of finality.

"Your constitutional right allows you to express any final words you wish to impart to anybody, but you should do it right now, or else that right would be revoked, because the dementor is now summoned and can't be made to wait," the judge continued. He nodded at the platinum-blond man sitting at the front of the court room.

I looked at the back of the convict's head. I remembered seeing him the first time after graduation. It was during his arrest when I first saw him again, and he had looked arrogant, proud, and remorseless. He surely deserved to be punished. 

But I could not help but feel a bit sorry for him. Somehow, I always believed that nobody deserved the dementor's kiss. I didn't think anybody aside from Voldemort could deserve the dementor's kiss. 

The convict turned around and to my surprise, he looked straight at me. "Hermione," he said softly.

It was the first time I heard him say my first name. It was the first time he addressed me without contempt and hatred, but with softness. And his eyes…his gray eyes were not cold. They looked…resigned, tired.

"I have loved you ever since we were in fourth year. I never stopped, even though I never told you until now. I see no point of hiding it any longer." His voice was clear and unwavering. He held his head with pride, something that he had always carried with him. Yet his eyes held a sincerity and sadness I never thought he was capable of feeling. On his lips was a not a sneer, but a sad smile.

I was stunned at this revelation, but then I started to understand. I understood why he treated me the way he did when we were still at school. I understood why I was still alive when almost everyone I cared for was dead. I understood why I heard his voice every time I needed salvation.

I understood him; in that few seconds I saw his soul. 

Yet it was all too late. A dementor swiftly entered the court room and swooped down on him and gave him the dreaded kiss. The dementor left as soon as it came. 

After the wave of coldness that swept over me because of the dementor's presence, I looked at the platinum-blond man. He was sprawled on the floor.

He was now worse than dead. 

I found myself feeling a burning lump in my throat and a prickling feeling in the inner corners of my eyes. I blinked back furiously. Why should I cry for him? But the tears fell down my face freely, needing no reason.

I was not just crying for him. I was crying for the man he could have been. I was crying for the man I could have known.

He loved me…all these years, and I did not know it. I wondered if I could have been the one to save him—not just to save him from the dementor's kiss, but to save him from what kind of man he had become. I wondered if things could have been different. But now I would never know, and I could not do anything for him anymore.

I would never see his soul again, because now it was not his anymore.

_Goodbye, Draco. I didn't love you, but I think I could have…if only I had been given the chance._

**_The End_**

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** A/N: That's it. No more sequels. :) Thanks to everyone who reviewed. **


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